“Thanks.” I push to my feet. “I know that this is weird, me coming to you, but my mom…” I trail off.
“I’m glad you came to me,” Professor Gibson says firmly.
I thank her again and leave the office. I know I should talk to my girls, but they’ll say the same things as Professor Gibson. In fact, the reason I went to her was because I thought for sure she’d tell me to get the abortion.
Five minutes later, I sit in my car, staring unseeingly at the dashboard. I miss my mom right now. She was hardly ever around and we weren’t close, but she’s still my mother and I wish she were here. I want to know why she kept me when she clearly didn’t want me in her life.
When I get home, I pull out a sheet of paper and start listing the pros and cons. Halfway through the cons, I tear the sheet in half and throw it away.
My answer has been there all along. I didn’t need to see Joanna, or Professor Gibson, or commune with my absentee mother. The fact is, I haven’t scheduled the abortion because I don’t want to get one. It might be the best option, but I’ve spent my whole life feeling unwanted.
I tuck a protective hand over my still-flat stomach. A smarter girl would get the procedure done, but I’m not that smart girl. Not today.
Today, I’m keeping it.
23
Sabrina
I lie in wait outside Tucker’s eleven o’clock class. Rather than ask him when we could meet up, I stalked him online and found a post on the Briar YikYak that had all of the players’ schedules. That’s not creepy.
As students stream out of the ivy-covered building, I recognize maybe one in thirty, if that. My time at Briar is coming to the end, and I don’t have much to show for it. Some kids graduate with a raft of friends that they carry into their postgraduate life. Me? I’ve got my degree, Carin, and Hope. And now a baby. I guess the baby outweighs the entire sisterhood of a sorority.
Tucker strolls out with Garrett Graham. They’re both gorgeous, but Tucker is the one who commands my attention. Not that Graham isn’t good-looking, but Tucker’s all I see. He shaved his beard. I don’t know how I feel about that—I liked the beard—but I can’t deny that his clean-shaven face is equally appealing. He’s got a dimple in his chin that was hidden by all the scruff. God, I want to explore that dimple with my tongue.
The rest of him is equally tempting. He’s wearing a tight, long-sleeve knit shirt with one corner tucked into the side of his jeans. A pair of sunglasses is perched on the top of his auburn head, which is thrown back as he laughs at something Graham is murmuring out of the corner of his mouth. Behind them trails a line of hungry girls who desperately want the attention of these guys. But they’re both more interested in exchanging quips than scoping out the women.
A flutter of relief washes over me. Since the night at the hotel, we haven’t slept together. There was the pregnancy discovery and then Beau’s death and then Beau’s memorial and then…nothing really. My head hasn’t been in a good place since New Year’s.
I bite my lip. I didn’t want to drag him down with me, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.
He cuts off mid-chuckle when his eyes land on me. His lips move, saying something like, “I’ll see you later, man. I’ve got something to take care of.”
Garrett’s gaze swings toward me, and he probably says, “She’s going to suck your soul out. Stay away from her.”
Tucker’s lips curve up. He’s either replying that he can handle me or likes the way I suck or maybe even, “Too late.” As he saunters toward me, Garrett’s glare moves from Tucker’s back to my face.
I smile wide, showing a little teeth.
“You’re avoiding me,” Tucker murmurs when he reaches me.
I switch my attention to him, tuning out Garrett, the adoring girls, and the rest of our classmates. They’re a distraction and I owe it to Tucker to be focused.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I admit.
“Yeah. Me too.”
When he quirks up an eyebrow, I tilt my head toward the crowd. “Got a moment?”
“For you, always.”
My heart squeezes. I’ve been AWOL for weeks and he still finds a way to look at me like I’m the only girl in his orbit. I don’t fucking deserve him.
He takes my elbow and I follow him toward a row of benches along the quad. “You seeing anyone?” I ask in the most casual voice I can muster.
He stops so abruptly that I nearly take a header on the cobblestones. He hauls me upright, planting both hands on my shoulders to orient me so I’m facing him.
“Are you kidding me with that?”
“You stopped texting me.” I hate the uncertainty in my voice.
His expression softens. “I’ve been giving you space.”
I force a shrug. “It’d be okay if you were.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps, and the grip around my shoulders grows uncomfortably tight. Okay. I pegged that one wrong.
Finally, he sighs and pulls his sunglasses on. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.” Under his breath, I hear him mutter, “Apparently not even you.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “It wasn’t meant to be an insult. I just wanted you to know that this—” I wave my fingers in a circle around my belly “—shouldn’t be holding you back.”
His features tense again. “I need some food before we continue this conversation. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.” He doesn’t break stride even as he redirects us from the lecture hall toward the parking lot behind the building.
A number of people wave to him as we pass, but he doesn’t stop for any of them, nor does he talk to me. When we reach his pickup, he nudges me into the passenger side and then stares expectantly at me.
“What?” I mutter.
“Seatbelt.”
“I’ll do it when you get in the truck.”
“Now.”
“Is this because I asked if you were seeing anyone?”
The jaw muscle moves again. “No. It’s because you’re pregnant.” An eyebrow creeps above the rim of his sunglasses. “You still are, right?”
I flush. But I guess I deserved that. “Yes. I wouldn’t do anything without telling you first.”
“Good. Buckle your seatbelt.”
I do as he orders because it’s obvious we’re not moving an inch until he hears the click. Then I hold my hands out and say, “Okay?”
He nods and shuts the door.
We don’t say a word as he starts the truck and leaves the lot. He drives us about three miles away, where we pull to a stop in front of a small outdoor rink. The ice is melted, and instead of skaters, the rink is filled with picnic tables. Only a few people, none of them students, occupy the tables.
“Why don’t you grab a seat?” Tucker says as he helps me get out of the car. “Want anything to eat? Drink?”
“I’ll take a water.”
He heads off to the concession stand while I claim a table in the far corner, situating myself so I can watch Tucker stride across the pavement.
If I had to choose the father of my child, I couldn’t have done better than John Tucker. He’s gorgeous, tall, athletically gifted and smart. But most of all, he’s decent. No matter what happens in the future, he’ll never turn away from his kid. He’ll never make him or her feel unwanted. He’ll never threaten his or her life in any way. No matter what happens—even if I screw up, and I know I will—Tucker will be there to clean up my mess.
It’s because he’s so good and decent that this decision to keep the baby was so fucking difficult. If I’d gotten the abortion, I think he would have grieved, but now that I’m keeping it, his life will be forever changed. And it’ll be because of me.
I keep having to remind myself of that. I can’t rely on him too heavily or ask too much from him, because he’d give me everything without complaint. But I’m not a taker and I’m not a user. It would be so easy to fall in love with Tucker and allow him to take care of everything.
/>
It would be easy. But not fair.
A minute later, he settles into his seat and pushes a water bottle across the table. He bought himself a hot dog and a coffee, and neither of us speak as he quickly inhales his food. Once he’s done, he balls up his napkin and shoves it in the empty hot dog container. He tucks his sunglasses into his neckline, curves his large, capable hands around his coffee cup, and then waits. It’s my show.
I lick my lips once, twice, and then just go for it. “I’m keeping the baby.”
His eyes flutter shut, hiding whatever emotion that washes over him. Relief? Fear? Unhappiness? When he flicks his lids up, his gaze is clear and expressionless. “How can I help?”
A reluctant smile surfaces. Such a Tucker thing to say. Which reinforces my resolve to make sure that he suffers almost no burden and that he’s free to find whomever or whatever he wants in the future. The minute that he wants out, I won’t fight it.
“I’m good for now. I actually have insurance through my postal job. I’ve been working there since I graduated from high school. I used to grumble about my health premium since I never used it, but now it’s coming in handy.”
“All right. So healthcare is taken care of. What about after you have the baby? You still going to law school?”
“Yes, absolutely.” The thought of quitting hadn’t even occurred to me. “It’s like college. You have three or four hours of classes a day. The rest of the time, I’ll be home studying.”
His mouth thins out in the first sign of any kind of emotion. “With your stepfather?”
It’s hard not to flush with shame. “He’s an asshole, but he’s never touched me.”
“That’s not much of an endorsement.”
I roll the water bottle between my hands a few times. Tucker waits me out. He’s got more patience than a saint.
“I had to quit my job at the club,” I say quietly. “I was banking on that money to help with my law school tuition. I can’t afford to live anywhere else than where I am now. Plus, I’m hoping that Nana will watch the baby when I’m at school.”
“What about me? Do you trust me?”
My head jerks up to meet his slightly frustrated expression. “Of course.”
“Then why don’t I take care of the baby while you’re in class?”
“Because you’ve got to get a job, right? Nana doesn’t work. She lives off her social security money.”
Tucker rubs a hand across his forehead, as if the enormity of the task we’re about to undertake is finally settling in. “You’re right. I need to find a job.”
“You haven’t found a business yet?”
“There are dozens of them, but if there’s anything I learned about business management, it’s that if you don’t love what you’re doing it’s bound to be a failure.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I’ll sign on to a construction crew for the summer. I’ve done that in the past and it’s good money. During my time off, I’ll keep looking at different opportunities until I find the right one.”
“So until that time, it makes sense for Nana to help.”
He thinks it over, but he can’t come up with a better solution. “For now. Until we can find something better.” He pauses. “I need to tell my mom. And my teammates.”
The churning that starts in my belly has nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with embarrassment. Which triggers a jolt of self-directed annoyance, because getting pregnant isn’t some horrible, shameful occurrence. I’m an adult. I’m having a baby. That’s not a big deal.
“Will you wait a bit longer? I mean, I’m okay with you telling your mom, but can you keep it quiet with your friends for now?” I hesitate, then confess, “I haven’t told anyone.”
“No one?” he says, incredulous.
I nod miserably. “You’re not the only person I’ve been avoiding. I’ve barely seen Carin or Hope.”
“So you admit you’re avoiding me.”
I can’t look him in the eye. Instead, I pretend to be fixated with the wood grain of the picnic tables. I want so badly to tell him how much I’ve missed him. Because I have. I’ve missed kissing him and joking around with him and hearing him call me “darlin’” in his southern drawl.
I’ve been a largely solitary person my whole life, avoiding Nana and Ray when I could. At Briar, I made friends with Carin and Hope but didn’t feel the need for a bigger, more extensive circle. So the acute loneliness brought on by not seeing Tucker took me by surprise.
But how can I be with him knowing that I’m the one who turned his whole world upside down? The weight of guilt would crush me more than the weight of loneliness.
I take a deep breath, pushing out the words that I don’t want to say. “If you want to see other people…you can. I’m not going to. I don’t have time for that, but if you want to, I don’t mind.”
Silence falls between us.
A long finger finds its way under my chin and lifts it up until I either have to shut my eyes or stare into Tucker’s. I choose the latter, but it’s impossible to read his expression.
He gives me a long, contemplative look before saying, “How about this? I’ll tell you if I’ve found anyone new. And you and I, we can just be friends.” He gentles his tone. “If you decide you want more, we can talk about it then.”
“Friends?” I echo faintly. “I’ll take friends.” And then, because he’s so decent, I blurt out, “I’ve never had a boyfriend. I only know how to hook up and how to screw up.”
“Darlin’—”
Hearing those two soft syllables only heightens my panic. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a parent. God, Tuck, I’ve only thought about one thing my entire life—crawling out of my hellhole. And now I have to drag someone down with me and I don’t know if I can do it.”
Tears that I’ve been holding at bay for weeks spill over. Tucker cups my cheek with one warm hand and stares firmly into my eyes.
“You’re not alone,” he says, fierce and low. “And you’re not dragging anyone down. I’m here with you, Sabrina. Every step of the way.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
*
Tucker
In hockey, nearly everyone plays with a partner. The offense forward line is made up of a left wing, a center, and a right wing. The defense skates in pairs. Only the goalie is alone and he’s always weird. Always.
Kenny Simms, who graduated last year, was one of the greatest goalies at Briar and probably the reason we won three Frozen Fours in a row, but that guy had the strangest fucking habits. He talked to himself more than he talked to anyone else, sat in the back of the bus, preferred to eat alone. On the rare occasion that he came out with us, he’d argue the entire time. I once got into it with him over whether there was too much technology available to children. We argued about that topic for the entire three hours we were knocking back beers at the bar.
Sabrina reminds me of Simms. She’s not weird, but she’s closed off like he is. She thinks she’s alone. Basically, she’s never had anyone skate with her—not even her friends, Carin and Hope. I kind of understand it. The guys outside of my hockey team that I’ve been friendly with are decent, but I haven’t bled with them, cried with them, won with them. I don’t know if they’ll have my back, because we’ve never been in a position where that loyalty has been tested.
Sabrina doesn’t know what it’s like to have someone stand beside her, let alone behind her. And it’s for that reason that I don’t give in to the urge to shake her like a piñata for saying shit like I’m free to see other women. The fear in her eyes is palpable, and I remind myself that patience is the key here.
“Want me to follow you home?” I offer as I pull into the campus lot where she left her car. “We can hang out a bit, make some plans?”
She shakes her head. Of course not. The girl hasn’t been able to look at me since she broke down in tears. She hates crying in front of me. Hell, she probably hates crying in general. To Sabrina, tears are a sign of weakness, and she
can’t stand being viewed as anything less than Amazonian.
I stifle a sigh and climb out of the truck. I walk her to her car and then drag her stiff body against mine. It’s like hugging a frozen log.
“I want to go to the next doctor’s visit with you,” I tell her.
“Okay.”
“Don’t get too excited about all of this. You’ll wake up the baby,” I say dryly.
She flashes a pained smile. “That’s weird, right? Saying that we’re having a baby?”
“There are weirder things. Simmsy, our old goalie, used to eat circus peanuts before each game. That’s pretty strange. A woman having a baby seems to fall into the fairly ordinary category.”
Her ears pinken. “I mean, us.” She wiggles her index finger between us. “Us having a baby is weird.”
“Nope. Don’t think that’s weird either. You’re young—and super fertile, apparently—and I can’t keep my hands off of you.” I lean down and plant a hard kiss on her surprised mouth. “Go home and take a nap or something. Text me when you know when the next appointment is. I’ll see you later.”
And then I take off before she has the opportunity to argue with me. Weird? It’s not weird. It’s terrifying and awesome at the same time, but it’s not weird.
When I get home, the house is empty, which is a good thing. If my roommates were around, I might end up spilling the beans, and I’ve got to respect Sabrina’s wishes. We’re a team now, whether she likes it or not. She’s scared out of her mind, filled with guilt, and overwhelmed with what’s going to happen next. I figure at this point all I can do is be there for her.
When you have a new teammate, they don’t always trust you right away. They’ll play puck hog because that’s the way they’re used to scoring, to achieving success. Raising a kid is a team sport. Sabrina needs to learn to trust me.
But while I won’t tell my roommates until she’s ready, there is someone who needs to know.
So I head upstairs, sit on the edge of my bed, and text my mom.
Me: Got a minute?
Her: In 20, baby! Finishing a color for Mrs. Nelson.